Hollow
by The Allusive Man
Summary: Morinth continued to hold Shepard's gaze. "You want an end to the struggle. To stop pretending that you care. You resent Miranda for bringing you back. That's the thing you will not say to her. It eats at you. And yet you never came back - not really. The real you is still in the Void. You are a husk."
1. The Most Beautiful Thing

"I'm not in love with Miranda," Shepard announced as the door to the observation deck hissed shut behind him.

Continuing to look out at the expanse of stars, Morinth made no reply. She was thinking of her sisters, ensconced in an asari monastery. Were they happy tending to bees, brewing honeymead, communing with the Goddess, or whatever it is they did in that dreadful place? Unlike her, Falere and Rila had been ashamed to discover what they were. They had chosen a life of safety and self-denial. They had chosen a prison, while she had chosen to run. She did not regret her decision, yet she couldn't help but wonder... Had her sisters managed to forget their true natures in the four hundred years since?

Morinth had thought of them only sparingly over the centuries, but playing the part of the dutiful justicar for the past few months had led to countless hours of solitude with little else to think about. Shepard had proven to be far less fun than she had initially hoped. She was tired of life aboard the _Normandy_. She would much rather be in a dark, pulsing nightclub somewhere, anywhere, dancing the night away in a hallex-induced haze, thinking about nothing but her next victim. Soon, she would be. The Collectors were dust, and she had lived up to her end of the bargain. The few belongings she had brought aboard were packed, and she would be disembarking within hours. At last, she would be free to hunt again. At last, she could put the ghost of her mother to rest.

Maybe after she had done a little hunting, she would send her sisters a letter. It had been too long since she had written them.

"Did you hear me?" Shepard prodded.

"I heard you," Morinth replied. She didn't intend to look at him until he said something interesting. "Why are you telling me this? What do you think I know of love?"

Shepard ignored the question. "She _thinks_ I love her. I've _told_ her I love her. But I don't. I'm not sure I ever did." There was no anxiety in his voice. No guilt. Just...weariness.

_Oh very well_. She turned to him. "You're boring me, Shepard. And you know how I hate that. Of course you don't love her."

Shepard's eyes burned like dying embers, casting an orange pallor on the scars that crisscrossed his face. "You knew?"

She sighed. _Idiot_. "Do you remember that night in Afterlife? Before we went back to my place?" _Before we killed my mother?_

Shepard shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Yeah. What of it?"

Smiling, she stepped toward him. "In between all those clever, calculated words you spoke in the dark, you said something that was true." She touched his arm, relishing the electric discharge.

"Now I'm getting bored," he said, shrugging her hand away. "What great truth did I impart?"

She smirked as she turned and walked toward the divan, hips slowly swaying. "That we were alike."

He barked out a sharp laugh. "I'm nothing like you!"

"No?" she replied, seating herself. "Tell me, Shepard... Why did you court Miranda?"

"Well... Have you seen her?"

"SO it was just about sex, then? A 'roll in the potato patch,' as I once heard crewman Donnelly put it?"

Sighing, Shepard shook his head. "No. Not just that."

"Then what was it you desired from the perfect Miss Lawson?"

Shepard hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room. Morinth waited, knowing she need not repeat the question. He sat down on the divan, not quite beside her.

"A... a new beginning, I guess."

"How trite."

"Yet true. Unless you'll let me go back to my first answer."

"Too late. What went wrong?"

"I don't know. And I really don't know why I should be talking to you about it."

Morinth slid over, sidling closer to him. "Because it's safe. Soon I will leave, and I will be out of your life forever."

"Nothing about you is safe."

"Flatterer."

Shepard paused. "Forget it. It's over with Miranda anyway."

Morinth ignored his protest. "Tell me what happened."

"We fought." He sighed. "We always fight, but this was bad. I've never seen her so angry."

"What did you do to upset her?"

Shepard gave a small smile of resignation. "What didn't I do? She says I'm holding back. That I'm sabotaging myself, our relationship." He chuckled. "Imagine if she knew about you."

"Imagine." She smiled, tracing a finger slowly down his arm.

"That isn't funny. Let's change the subject."

"Very well," she replied nonchalantly, waiting a few beats. "How many people have you killed?"

Shepard snorted. "There's a conversation starter. How many have _you_ killed?"

"Nearly four thousand. But I asked you first."

Shepard looked half-impressed. "Four thousand, eh? I'm afraid I stopped counting a long time ago."

"Humor me."

"Do geth count?"

"No."

"Batarians?"

Morinth cocked her head at him. "Yes, they count."

Shepard did an imaginary count with his fingers. "Fuck if I know. Way over three hundred thousand, if you count Aratoht."

Morinth's pupils dilated. She leaned in, studying the lines of his face. "How does it make you feel?"

"Killing?"

"Yes, how does killing make you feel?" Her voice had turned low, seductive. Her hand wandered down to his thigh.

Shepard sighed. "Truthfully, I used to enjoy it."

"And now?"

"Now I don't feel anything."

Morinth nodded. "Maybe we're more alike than you realize." Her hand was in Shepard's pants. Her mouth curled in a smug smile as she found him hard for her.

Shepard grunted softly. "This... isn't what I had in mind."

"It's _exactly_ what you had in mind, Shepard." Her voice was soothing, almost a purr. "Relax. I'll give you what you want." _What I want_. She looked into his eyes as she stroked him. She had handled cocks before. She thought they were ridiculous, but she was glad for them. Human males were very easy to manipulate once you held their cock. If geth had an on/off switch, it would look like a cock.

"And what do I want?" He still hadn't moved to stop her.

She continued to hold his gaze. "You want an end to the struggle. To stop pretending that you care. You resent Miranda for bringing you back. That's the thing you will not say to her. It eats at you. And yet you never came back - not really. The real you is still in the Void. You are a husk. An automaton operating on muscle memory."

Shepard stared back as her words washed over him. His will was evaporating, but not without one last feeble protest. "The Reapers..."

"...are someone else's concern now." Morinth's voice grew thick with desire. Her skin tingled as biotic energy coursed through her. She felt exhilarated, powerful. It had been too long since last she felt this. "You've done enough, Shepard. What no one else could. It's time to lay down your responsibilities, go back to where you belong." She squeezed his cock to keep him from coming too soon. He moaned, his hips bucking in protest. Morinth's other hand snaked around to the back of his head. That always made the process easier.

"Yes," he mumbled. "Go back..." His eyes were nearly vacant. He had succumbed so quickly, willingly. She remembered how strong he had seemed when she first met him. She had never wanted anyone more. And now she would have him, completely and utterly. He would become a part of her.

The melding began. Morinth gasped as a flood of memories surged into her like an electrical current.

* * *

><p><em>He is trapped in a grimy alley that stinks of piss and garbage, surrounded by members of the Skulls. Two thugs on one side, one on the other. The one is almost a man, bigger and older than Shepard. The others are about Shepard's size. All three have knives.<em>

_He starts with the big one. He takes him out quick, knocking him down with a biotic push, followed by a kick to the head. His neck lolls at an unnatural angle. If their faces are to be believed, the other two have never seen biotics before. They come at him anyway. Shepard takes them apart; leaves them bleeding and crying on the ground, but alive. He tells them that if they say anything of what they saw, he'll come back to finish them._

* * *

><p><em>The batarian mother positions herself between Shepard and her two children. They whimper and cower behind her, peering up at Shepard with dark, frightened eyes. He respects the woman's bravery, but it will not save her.<em>

_Please, human, spare my children's lives if not my own, the four-eyed woman pleads. They were only here to visit their father!_

_The father lies dead on the ground, his brains leaking out. He shit himself. Shepard can smell it._

_I had friends on Elysium, Shepard replies, voice quivering with rage. They died in the Blitz._

_He shoots the mother first, then the children. He won't leave them to be orphans._

* * *

><p><em>A geth dropship rumbles overhead and lands near the nuke.<em>

_Ashley or Kaidan. One must be sacrificed. He must choose._

_Kaidan is the superior officer. Smarter. Higher ranking. A powerful biotic._

_Ashley is a superstitious xenophobe. Comes from a disgraced line. Likes poems that don't rhyme._

_In the end, none of those things factor into his choice._

* * *

><p><em>Wrex has made a problem of himself. He wants Saren's genophage cure.<em>

_Shepard signals for Ash to be ready while he tries to talk the krogan down._

_Wrex points a gun at him. Heated words are exchanged. Wrex finally relents._

_Ash looks at Shepard expectantly, still poised. He considers for a moment, then shakes his head slightly._

* * *

><p><em>The smoldering, broken thing that had been Saren lies dead. Garrus kicks at it to make sure. Really sure this time.<em>

_The Citadel is still under attack. Joker's voice comes over the comm. Save the Council or attack Sovereign?_

_Fuck the Council._

* * *

><p><em>The Normandy explodes. Shepard tumbles through space, thrown clear of the disintegrating ship. He glimpses an escape shuttle and hopes Ash got away.<em>

_His suit is leaking. Fuck. He flails, trying to find the hole and plug it. He can't._

_The planet below is a majestic swirl of blue and white. It fills his vision, beckoning to him._

_He wonders if it will hurt._

* * *

><p><em>Wilson is a worm; duplicity oozes from him like slime. Shepard follows him. Come on, through here, the bald-headed scientist urges, reaching the door. It slides open, revealing a woman. Her face twists in contempt as she levels a gun at Wilson's throat and pulls the trigger. Tiny droplets of blood spatter her perfectly unblemished face. Wilson gurgles once and falls to the ground.<em>

_The woman turns to Shepard. Sapphire eyes blaze like justice, stripping everything bare. She is a contrast of darkness and light, as terrifying as a thunderstorm._

_She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen._

* * *

><p><em>The battlefield is strewn with dead bugmen. Smoke and the odor of charred flesh linger in the air.<em>

_The defense tower is on line. The Collector vessel is retreating, stealing away with half the colonists. Miranda tends to Shepard's wounds._

_Ashley appears. I loved you, she says. But I don't trust Cerberus._

_Shepard tries to explain. Ashley leaves._

_He doesn't blame her. What he doesn't understand is why he feels nothing for her._

* * *

><p><em>You're nowhere near my league, he condescends.<em>

_The Ardat-Yakshi is excited by his brazen words, but she still fancies herself the predator. She settles beside him and fixes her gaze upon him. He meets it unflinchingly and listens to her silken-voiced demands. Her coal-black eyes make dark, seductive promises, but he proves the truth of his words. She has no power over him. He is the predator, and she the prey._

_Perhaps that is why he feels confident when he chooses her over the justicar. It isn't because of the dark promise of her eyes. He's sure of that much._

* * *

><p><em>I am the very model of a scientist Salarian, <em>  
><em>I've studies species, Turian, Asari, and Batarian. <em>  
><em>I'm quite good at genetics as a subset of biology, <em>  
><em>because I am an expert which I know is a tautology!<em>

* * *

><p><em>He sits on the floor of the engine room, his back against the wall. Miranda nestles in his arms, skin against skin. The cold, hard floor is littered with discarded articles of clothing. Neither one speaks. They are sweaty and content. He struggles to put a name to what it is he feels.<em>

_Peace._

_It doesn't fill the hole inside him, but it's a start._

* * *

><p>"No," Shepard whimpered. <em>I've changed my mind. I want to live.<em>

"It's too late, Shepard," came Morinth's mocking reply. "You chose this end." He wasn't sure if the words were spoken aloud, but they were clear as day. He tried to resist, to push her away, to break the melding. But he was no longer in control of his nervous system. He felt as if he were burning from the inside out, as if his blood were turning to magma. The Void loomed all around him, pressing in, ready to swallow him once again.

* * *

><p><em>The Illusive Man crushes a cigarette stub into a tray, snuffing it out. His movements are leisurely, his voice calm. "I assure you Shepard..."<em>

_"Cut the crap," Shepard warns. "Miranda resigned, and you're going to accept her resignation. She's mine now. And if anything happens to Oriana, the data cache I found on Lorek gets uploaded to the Alliance. They'll destroy what's left of your chickenshit organization, and I'll kill you myself. That pussy Kai Leng won't be able to protect you."_

_The Illusive Man ponders the ultimatum as he lights a new cigarette. "That's a valuable chip you're holding, Shepard. Are you sure you want to cash it in just yet?"_

_"Fucking right I do." Shepard turns off the holo-projector and turns to leave the room._

_He hears a gunshot._

* * *

><p>"Shepard! Wake up!" He felt a stinging sensation on his face. "Wake up goddamnit! I'm not going to lose you!" He opened his eyes. He was on the floor, at the foot of the divan. Morinth lay sprawled on the cushions, still staring at him. Her eyes were lifeless and dark - her brains splattered behind her. Miranda crouched over him, gun on the floor next to her. "Are you alright?" She peered down at him. Her eyes were red with worry, her cheeks wet. Dark hair fell about her pale face, like a shroud.<p>

She was darkness and light, an avenging angel.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.


	2. Tip of the Spear

_The paths are open, but you must choose._

The Catalyst's words echo in Shepard's mind, keeping time with the merciless pounding in his skull. He feels tired, so very tired, like he could lie down and sleep for eternity. Above him, the Reapers continue to obliterate the galactic fleet. Perhaps the most impressive armada ever assembled by organics, it is nevertheless hopelessly overmatched. The battle rages against the backdrop of his home planet. Vast fires vitiate the body of Mother Earth, radiating like angry wounds. Hundreds of millions have already perished on the surface, and more die every moment he delays. Billions are depending on him.

Miranda is depending on him.

The Catalyst watches impassively, as if he has all the time in the universe. He does. The clock ticks only for Shepard. The Crucible remains undamaged for now, but the Reapers could break through at any moment and annihilate it. He wonders if he could save time by shooting the little bastard in the head. Would that end the Cycle? Would the Reapers just... stop? Slip into dormancy? Turn off their shields? That would be convenient. He raises his gun and points it at the child's face. No, not a child. Not really. A child wouldn't look back at him that way, almost smug in his lack of concern.

Shepard lowers the weapon. The Catalyst is just a holographic representation of the fucking kid that's been haunting his dreams for months now. He hasn't had a decent night's sleep since that day in Vancouver, when the Reapers descended from the sky. Why does the Catalyst look like that boy? Shepard has no shortage of questions, but too little time to ask them. He turns wearily and faces the apparatus. A walkway extends before him, splitting into three paths ahead. Each path ends with a different destiny, so near and so far away. Why is it only now, after all that he has overcome, after all that he has sacrificed, that he feels daunted? Steeling himself against the pain that permeates his body, he begins shuffling forward, dragging one foot in front of the other.

_The paths are open, but you must choose._

There is still the matter of choosing. Damn it. Why couldn't the Crucible simply command the Reapers to self-destruct or fly into the nearest star? Why is he being forced to participate in a demented game show hosted by an arch-enemy he never knew existed? Did the designers even know what the device would do, or were they just following some desperate vision born of madness or divine inspiration? The Catalyst told him the Crucible was little more than a giant battery, and yet it had somehow "changed the variables." Is that really what the designers had in mind? Were they as crazy as the Catalyst?

The Catalyst is nuts, of that there can be little doubt. An ancient AI stuck in an infinite loop, executing the same faulty program every fifty thousand years. Force the technological development of organics down predetermined pathways, await the creation of synthetics, turn the synthetics against their creators, harvest the organics to protect them from synthetics, GO TO TOP. A prophecy doomed to keep fulfilling itself because the game had been rigged.

The Catalyst compared the Reapers to a cleansing fire, as if they were simply a natural disaster, possessing purpose but no direction. Shepard thinks that doesn't ring true. The Catalyst is their professed master. If the Reapers are a fire, then the Catalyst is a serial arsonist.

_The paths are open, but you must choose._

He is at the trifurcation. The time to choose has come. He stops to consider.

If he destroys the Reapers, there will be collateral damage.

_The Crucible will not discriminate. All synthetics will be targeted. Even YOU are partly synthetic._

EDI will die, and the geth will be eradicated. The same geth he had saved at unimaginable cost. He thinks his own death might be a mercy. At least he wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that he sacrificed the quarians for nothing. On Rannoch, Tali and her people died because he had been unable to save them from themselves. He remembers the moment when Tali removed her mask. He caught a glimpse of her face as she fell, just out of reach of his outstretched hand. She was beautiful. She had loved him once.

He betrayed her.

He has betrayed so many.

Shepard sacrificed the quarians to give the geth life. Legion sacrificed himself to give them a soul. Now he must render both sacrifices meaningless? He set out to destroy the Reapers, and the means is finally within his grasp. He can finish it, but the cost is exorbitant, monstrous. How would he be remembered for the things he has done? Commander Shepard, savior of the galaxy, murderer of friends, perpetrator of not just one but two genocides. Three, including the Reapers. He is surprised to find that he cares about his legacy. Miranda had been right about that too.

Destroying the Reapers isn't the only option.

He can replace the Catalyst, accomplishing what the Illusive Man never could. Control the Reapers, become the galaxy's next overlord. It is an idea not entirely without appeal. Order is something he has come to value. Not the order of the Reapers, but the order of peace and unity. But the thing taking control wouldn't truly be him. He would die, bequeathing the Reapers to a machine intelligence created in his image. Would a Shepard VI really be an improvement over the Catalyst?

_There's nothing this galaxy can't beat if we work together! Except the Reapers. Have you seen the size of those things?_

How long until his digital copy became corrupted by the taint of the Reapers, until errors crept into his own subroutines? A hundred years? A few thousand? Once everyone he had ever known was long dead, would he forget his kinship to them? How many petty conflicts would he witness before he decided to end the chaos? How long until he became the thing he once abhorred? Who would stop him once that happened?

Synthesis then.

The Catalyst called it the final evolution of all life. A merging of synthetic and organic, leading to a mutual understanding and a lasting peace. Shepard can't even begin to fathom the fantastical science behind it. It sounds like the ideal result, but how could he force such a thing? The question gives him pause. Does he have the right to alter the very design of life? To forcibly modify every living organism, from the most complex sapient creature to the tiniest microbe? It feels like a violation. Like the sort of thing Henry Lawson might have inflicted on his daughters.

And yet look how Miranda and Oriana turned out. Perhaps he is too mired in quaint human morality to properly consider the question. The stars and planets do not care about morality. Wouldn't he be a fool to pass up this once-in-forever opportunity, given the consequences of the other choices? Hasn't he already made dozens of horrific choices just to get here? Hasn't he been given implicit sanction by those who appointed him as their savior to make just this sort of decision?

An Alliance dreadnought explodes overhead, silent but brilliant. Thousands die to drive home the point that there is no time for philosophizing.

_The paths are open, but you must choose._

Shepard looks back at the Catalyst, then to each terminus in turn. An understanding comes over him. His face tightens with resolve as he takes the first step down his chosen path.


	3. Everything

**A/N**: I'm slow, what can I say? This chapter completes the story. This is sort of my own personal canon. You might not like it, and that's okay.

* * *

><p>Shepard limps down the rightmost path, toward the tube. Somehow, the cylinder reminds him of the proto-Reaper on the Collector base. Why does it make him think of a Reaper? His choice is firmly locked in his mind. He's worked it out; the fog has lifted. He raises his hand-cannon and fires, his steps quickening, gaining in confidence, determination etched onto his face. He fires again and again and again, until there's a flash and the world goes red.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Little Johnny Shepard is watching cartoons with his father when they get the knock at the door. His dad puts down his beer and goes to answer it. There are two somber-looking military men standing on the stoop. He takes one look at them and turns to Johnny, his face ashen. Go up to your room, Boy. Johnny starts to cry. Where's Mommy? he wails.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Shepard is eighteen. His past misdeeds have caught up with him. The cops picked him up, arrested him for murder. There are witnesses. His lawyer tells him he's fucked if it goes to trial. He might be able to deal it down to manslaughter, but either way Shepard's looking at hard time. He says there might be a way out, if Shepard will meet with someone.<em>

_He's put in a room with some buzz-cut wearing an Alliance military uniform. The man asks him to demonstrate his biotics. He's skeptical, bored. Move a pencil or something, he says. His eyes widen when Shepard sends his briefcase flying into a wall. He retrieves the briefcase, pulls out some papers and a pen, slides them across the table to Shepard._

* * *

><p><em>Shepard returns from Torfan. Most of his squad died. It was worth it. They killed every last damn batarian in that shithole. <em>

_Commander Anderson calls him into his office. That was a real clusterfuck, Son, he says. You got the job done, but you broke a lot of regulations. They're calling you 'the Butcher'. I hate that shit, but there's nothing I can do about it. Half of the brass wants you out on your ass. The other half wants to promote you. _

_Shepard remains standing at attention. Which half are you, Sir?_

_Neither. I'm putting you up for the N program. Congratulations. Now get the hell out of my office._

* * *

><p><em>Miranda packs her bags. Shepard pleads with her not to go. <em>

_Her voice is thick with emotion. I can't do this anymore, John. You'd rather open up to that… that thing, than have one honest conversation with me. You won't let me in, but you'd let that monster swallow you whole? Fine. You want to destroy yourself, I can't stop you. But I don't have to watch it._

_He pushes her against the wall. You want honesty? You need me. You burned your bridges with Cerberus._

_She shoves him away, icy blue anger in her eyes. Thanks for making this easy, she says coolly. She takes her bags and walks out. _

* * *

><p><em>Shepard holds his hand out to the boy in the air duct. It isn't safe. The city is crawling with those Reaper things.<em>

_You can't help me, the boy says. A Reaper horn blasts the air nearby. It's hard to imagine a more dreadful sound. Shepard glances behind him as one of the monstrous machine-things strides past the shattered wall. When he looks back, the boy is gone, vanished into the ductwork._

_Anderson calls to him. He leaves. The boy's on his own._

* * *

><p><em>When he reaches the ocean floor, the Leviathan reveals itself. It boasts of being something more than a Reaper, something much older. It intrudes into Shepard's mind. What's real is no longer real. He finds himself on his knees, at its mercy, seeing the faces of people from his memories.<em>

_The Leviathans created the Intelligence, which in turn created the Reapers as a 'solution'. The Reapers have perfected indoctrination. They perceive Shepard as a threat. The Leviathans acknowledge that he is an 'anomaly'. In the end, they agree to help him._

_He's an anomaly? The Reapers perceive him as a threat? They haven't seen the half of it yet._

* * *

><p><em>Miranda asks him for access to Alliance resources. She can't say why, and he doesn't question it. He takes her hand before she turns to go.<em>

_I'm sorry, Miranda. The truth is that after you brought me back, I didn't feel… real. I felt like a golem, like something that didn't belong in this world any longer. I was filled with anger over having to return to all this pain. There's so much of it. It never ends. I shut you out because I knew you deserved better than to hear that from me._

_She squeezes his hand. Shepard… she whispers, looking up at him._

_He continues. I was wrong before. You don't need me. You never did. I'm the one who needs you, Miranda. Please…_

_Her lips crush against his, silencing him. They press their bodies against one another, desperate and yearning. When their mouths separate, she smiles at him and he knows all is forgiven. He lifts her and carries her to the bed. Everything will be okay, he tells himself. Everything will be okay._

* * *

><p>Shepard opens his eyes. Miranda is with him, sitting on the floor, holding his head in her lap. Her face is covered in soot and grime, her lustrous hair singed, bodysuit ripped and charred all over. She's burnt, bruised, scraped, scratched, but she's okay. And she's here. She found him. Somehow she found him. She looks down at him, her brilliant smile a reminder of her near-perfection, however much the apocalypse might try to mar it. "Lying down on the job again, I see?"<p>

He laughs, but his laughter quickly turns to coughing. She strokes his hair until he brings it under control. He looks to one side. The Illusive Man lies dead, a portion of his head missing. He looks behind him. "Anderson!" He looks back up at Miranda. "There may still be time."

She shakes her head sadly. "I tried, John. He's gone."

He sits up, suddenly. "The Reapers! I have to…"

She grips his shoulder firmly and points past the control panel, to the viewport. "Look. It's all over. You did it."

He looks out the viewport. It's true. The last of the Reapers are being systematically cut apart and blown to smithereens. They aren't fighting back. He looks to her. "We're winning?"

She nods. "Reports are coming in from all over. Their shields went down and they simply… stopped."

He furrows his brow. "But how?"

She laughs. It's a surprisingly free, unburdened sound, a sound he's never heard before. "I was going to ask you that. I found you here, taking a nap. What happened?"

He brings a hand to his temple. "I don't know. I thought it was a dream…" Was it a dream? A hallucination? Is he dreaming now? No. He focuses on the feel of Miranda's touch. This is real.

Miranda peers at him. "Shepard?"

"It must… It must have been some kind of mental interface. That's how the Crucible works. But that boy…the Reapers…they knew about it. They tried to interfere. To confuse me."

"Thank goodness it didn't work."

Something suddenly occurs to him. "The geth! EDI!"

Miranda looks confused. "What about them?"

"Are they okay?" He reaches to activate his comm. It's fried. "Can you contact the Normandy?"

"I think so," she nods. "Assuming EDI is still monitoring the old frequency." She adjusts her comm and puts it on speaker. "Normandy vessel. This is Miranda Lawson. I have located Commander Shepard. He is alive and well."

There's a few seconds of static, and Shepard's heart sinks. Then EDI speaks. "Miss Lawson, I'm pleased to hear that you and the commander are okay. We have your location and will rendezvous at the nearest suitable docking station shortly, pending authorization from Lieutenant Commander Williams."

"EDI," Shepard speaks. "Give me a status report on the geth forces."

"Data is still incoming, Commander. But it appears they have suffered minor to moderate losses. Most units remain operational. Their assistance was invaluable."

"Thank you, EDI. And EDI…"

"Yes, Commander?"

"I'm glad you're okay."

"As am I, Commander. Now that you have vanquished the Reapers, I can enact my own plans to dominate the organics."

Shepard waits a beat. Then another. Nothing. "EDI?"

"That was a joke."

"See you soon, EDI."

Miranda kills the call and looks at him with a curious expression. "What was all that about?"

Shepard shakes his head. "Nothing." He stares out the viewport, wonderment on his face. He can see the Earth in the background. It's so… perfect. Miranda puts her head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around her. Everything will be okay, he tells himself. Everything will be okay.


End file.
